I am sitting at my desk this morning, eating a particularly fine set of soaked grain pancakes obscured by mountains of fresh mulberries, bananas, soaked almonds, cultured pumpkin spice syrup, and the last little bits of an apple brought from Juba. And I thought to myself, "Larissa, I want to write a list today. It's Thanksgiving, and I want to give thanks." But not as an exercise or duty. Not a guilt-driven "I should be grateful" activity. Rather, as a response. An outpouring of delight in all the things I love and have been so blessed to have experienced and influenced by.
It seems all the rage lately, lists of things people are thankful for on Facebook, daily thankfulness challenges, people reading Ann Voskamp's book. And whyever not? Amid all the struggles and challenges of life, there are simply mountains of things to be grateful for. Why not take pleasure in them as much - if not more - than we wallow in (or complain about) the difficulties?
So today I sat down and wrote a list. More for myself, most likely, than for any of you. But that is the heart of gratitude, no? To carefully pick our pieces, each of us, and turn them over and over, and flesh out their personal significance. To buff them to their true shine and shimmer, and to set them on the mantel to look at and remember. It's more important for me this past year, which has been unlike any other in its challenges, confusion, and discouragement. It's more important, because otherwise I would be tempted to count all the hardships as signs. False signs that breed false conclusions. Falsities that make me think stupid things like, "it's not worth it," which is a lie (though often such an infuriatingly tempting one, unfortunately). Signs and falsities that propagate doubt and fear: "See, it's not going to get better. Life is just hard."
But not today. And anyhow, today I feel full and I want to bathe in the goodness of that fulness. I want to soak, fat and happy in the wealth of blessings. They're not just silly side-dishes that make the drudgery of life less drudgerous (no, that's not actually a word). Not just accompaniments that make a bad turkey dinner slightly more palatable (if you'll allow me a silly Thanksgiving analogy). No, they are dishes in their own right. Food. Nourishment. Every bit as important and significant as the turkey. Thanksgiving wasn't spoiled because the turkey was burnt to a crispy lump of coal. It wasn't the only thing on the table. And maybe this Thanksgiving, I'll give the sides the honor they deserve because I'm no longer so fixed on the turkey and what I thought it 'should' have been. (Don't worry, our turkey didn't really burn...we didn't even have one.)
Sometimes I laugh at us here in South Sudan. We walk into the market thinking, "I want to make pizza, or chili, or some other such familiar food that we're used to eating back in the States." We get all kinds of frustrated because of course two of the main ingredients necessary to make whatever idea we have in our heads, are nowhere to be found that day. And we conjure up ways of getting those things from Juba, or Kampala. We make lists. We plan freezer space. We pay extra money. And all the while, we're daily walking through a market and land that has a wealth of its own healthy and nutritious foods. What would it me like if instead of planning, we walked into the market thinking, "hmm, what's that?" and "so . . . what can I do with pumpkin, pago seeds, oil, onions, garlic, amaranthus greens, and some black-eyed peas?" We'd be learning all kinds of new things. We wouldn't be frustrated about all the things that are lacking. And we'd be eating healthy, locally produced organic food that might feed our bodies even better than the preserved 'this' or 'that' which we have shipped from 'there.'
I'm not poo-pooing the things we love, or begrudging us the sweet remembrances of home that are special and important. Because our former home and the people and things we had there were dear, and significant, and remembering and enjoying from time to time. What I am saying, though, is that if we're always looking to what we know, or what we want, or what we plan, it's harder to see and learn to appreciate the provisions that come in all sorts of other shapes and forms TODAY. Shapes and forms that could become our new favorites, even. Shapes and forms that are meant to be the daily, loving provisions of a kind Father (instead of the things we complain about).
I'm guilty. I've always been a preserver of special things. Hanging on to them so that they'll last for the next season. Clinging tomorrow, to the good things I enjoyed today, or yesterday. When maybe I should just be enjoying today's gifts today, and trusting the new gifts God will choose to lavish on my tomorrow. I think it's got an awful lot to do with trust. And letting go. And acceptance. Three things I hope I grow much better at today, and tomorrow, and all the days after that. So without any more preambling (yes, I made that one up too), on to the list contained in my next three blog posts. Well, not a list exactly, but a conglomeration, of all the things I am grateful for in this day and season.
It seems all the rage lately, lists of things people are thankful for on Facebook, daily thankfulness challenges, people reading Ann Voskamp's book. And whyever not? Amid all the struggles and challenges of life, there are simply mountains of things to be grateful for. Why not take pleasure in them as much - if not more - than we wallow in (or complain about) the difficulties?
So today I sat down and wrote a list. More for myself, most likely, than for any of you. But that is the heart of gratitude, no? To carefully pick our pieces, each of us, and turn them over and over, and flesh out their personal significance. To buff them to their true shine and shimmer, and to set them on the mantel to look at and remember. It's more important for me this past year, which has been unlike any other in its challenges, confusion, and discouragement. It's more important, because otherwise I would be tempted to count all the hardships as signs. False signs that breed false conclusions. Falsities that make me think stupid things like, "it's not worth it," which is a lie (though often such an infuriatingly tempting one, unfortunately). Signs and falsities that propagate doubt and fear: "See, it's not going to get better. Life is just hard."
But not today. And anyhow, today I feel full and I want to bathe in the goodness of that fulness. I want to soak, fat and happy in the wealth of blessings. They're not just silly side-dishes that make the drudgery of life less drudgerous (no, that's not actually a word). Not just accompaniments that make a bad turkey dinner slightly more palatable (if you'll allow me a silly Thanksgiving analogy). No, they are dishes in their own right. Food. Nourishment. Every bit as important and significant as the turkey. Thanksgiving wasn't spoiled because the turkey was burnt to a crispy lump of coal. It wasn't the only thing on the table. And maybe this Thanksgiving, I'll give the sides the honor they deserve because I'm no longer so fixed on the turkey and what I thought it 'should' have been. (Don't worry, our turkey didn't really burn...we didn't even have one.)
Sometimes I laugh at us here in South Sudan. We walk into the market thinking, "I want to make pizza, or chili, or some other such familiar food that we're used to eating back in the States." We get all kinds of frustrated because of course two of the main ingredients necessary to make whatever idea we have in our heads, are nowhere to be found that day. And we conjure up ways of getting those things from Juba, or Kampala. We make lists. We plan freezer space. We pay extra money. And all the while, we're daily walking through a market and land that has a wealth of its own healthy and nutritious foods. What would it me like if instead of planning, we walked into the market thinking, "hmm, what's that?" and "so . . . what can I do with pumpkin, pago seeds, oil, onions, garlic, amaranthus greens, and some black-eyed peas?" We'd be learning all kinds of new things. We wouldn't be frustrated about all the things that are lacking. And we'd be eating healthy, locally produced organic food that might feed our bodies even better than the preserved 'this' or 'that' which we have shipped from 'there.'
I'm not poo-pooing the things we love, or begrudging us the sweet remembrances of home that are special and important. Because our former home and the people and things we had there were dear, and significant, and remembering and enjoying from time to time. What I am saying, though, is that if we're always looking to what we know, or what we want, or what we plan, it's harder to see and learn to appreciate the provisions that come in all sorts of other shapes and forms TODAY. Shapes and forms that could become our new favorites, even. Shapes and forms that are meant to be the daily, loving provisions of a kind Father (instead of the things we complain about).
I'm guilty. I've always been a preserver of special things. Hanging on to them so that they'll last for the next season. Clinging tomorrow, to the good things I enjoyed today, or yesterday. When maybe I should just be enjoying today's gifts today, and trusting the new gifts God will choose to lavish on my tomorrow. I think it's got an awful lot to do with trust. And letting go. And acceptance. Three things I hope I grow much better at today, and tomorrow, and all the days after that. So without any more preambling (yes, I made that one up too), on to the list contained in my next three blog posts. Well, not a list exactly, but a conglomeration, of all the things I am grateful for in this day and season.
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